


we keep meeting like this...

by manticoremoons



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: A little angst, But Mostly Smut, Demons, Do you like it?, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Magic, Masturbation, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Swearing, Unbeta'd, a three times hacy..., and, and also to 2x01, by this i mean that hacy is taking over my soul, macy x harry x bathrooms is an otp apparently, references to the gaslighting by charity the piece of shit, so this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 16:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21059894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manticoremoons/pseuds/manticoremoons
Summary: Three times Harry and Macy meet just outside the bathroom. // Or a wee thing about what Macy said that one time "late night bubble baths are my safe space."





	we keep meeting like this...

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been loving Charmed since I binged it mid-last season. And I wanted to get into writing fic because these characters deserve all the fic but it never quite happened for me. Then that season 2 premiere happened, and THAT scene in particular happened ("Do you like it?"), and I started getting tingles. Anyway, this started off at a different place than it ended, and it's really just a fun bit of fluff with a slice of angst and a giant helping of smut because that's how I roll, I guess. 
> 
> I'm still getting the hang of the characters so hopefully this first gander isn't too bad. Not beta'd so probably some mistakes I'll keep fixing in there, oops.
> 
> First part is from s1, the rest is post-Safe Space and way beyond that into the future.

**i. before**

It was hard to overcome the feeling of gross violation. Of being invaded, of being treated like a demonic Other, of being utterly gas-lit by Charity. Macy found herself compulsively scrubbing at herself in the shower. The late-night baths she used to take didn’t do much to calm her these days. Now, she stood under the spray for long minutes, sometimes even as much as an hour, and let the piping hot water pound at her, the noise of it a welcome distraction from her loud thoughts.

She hated how she felt right now. It was completely out of control, so much so, sometimes she felt her hands shake with it. She felt the hidden power at her core, the dark one, roiling up like bile, desperate to express itself in the most destructive way possible.

Macy hated it.

She was supposed to be the calm, logical, eldest sister. The one who didn’t let her temper get the best of her like Mel or allow flights of fancy and an exaggerated sense of compassion to sway her.

But the discovery that Charity had not only been lying all along about everything, but that she’d been tampering with Macy’s mind and memories, had unleashed a tempest of emotion that Macy wasn’t quite sure she knew how to deal with.

It sucked. Like, really sucked.

The water tank gurgled in protest, a signal that she needed to get out of here before the hot water turned into frigid cold. With a sigh, Macy turned the spout and reached for her towel, drying herself up methodically.

“You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” She glared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink and said the words. Maybe if she said it often enough, and with enough conviction, it would be true.

She clenched her fists against her sides until her fingers stopped shaking, breathing through the urge to just throw something at a wall and watch it break. She didn’t like to think about that urge within. The desire to inflict wanton destruction. She knew where it came from, and she didn’t want everyone to look at her with any more concern than they had been already. Like she was broken or evil.

Even now in the mirror she felt the inky-black seeping into her eyes, and she blinked. Blinked it away until familiar deep brown pupils surrounded by white stared back at her.

Inhaling, letting air fill her lungs, she forced herself to calm down.

“You’re _okay_. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Wrapping herself up in her robe, she opened the door and came to a stop when she saw Harry standing at the wall opposite, a cup of something steaming hot in his hands.

“Hey, Harry. What’s up?” She made her voice sound as steady and sane as possible. Harry was too perceptive on the best of days. She knew that he, even more than her sisters, had been watching her carefully since the Charity incident—hell, since they found out she was part-demon. She appreciated his concern but sometimes it felt like he was just waiting for her to mess up. Lose control. Maybe do something _demonic _and kill a few people or something.

_That really sucked._

“I took the liberty of making you some honey-infused chamomile tea—with a few other special ingredients for healing, and peace of mind.”

Macy let out a laugh, an uncomfortably sharp sound. “Do I seem… like I’m… lacking peace of mind?” She knew he was being kind, but even then, it felt like judgment.

“No!” Harry rushed to say, then he tilted his head, a wry smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I mean—I know you’ve not been sleeping well ever since… the incident. And,” he ran an agitated hand through his hair, leaving the ends of it sticking up in an almost comical way as he continued, “I guess I know a little bit of what you’re going through. To feel like there’s some part of you that’s dark, different… dangerous, even. It’s a lonely way to feel.”

She met his gaze then, her distress and defensiveness seeping out of her a little as he tried to explain, as he tried to comfort her the best way he knew how—with something to eat. It was a nice thing to do. And it reminded her that even when Charity had kept up with her charade, Harry’d never stopped believing in her, reassuring her that she was good, watching out for her as much as he could. That meant a lot to her. She said as much.

“Thank you, Harry. You know, I never said before—or, well, after the whole crazy mess with Charity—but. Thank _you_. Thanks for being a good friend to me.”

His face broke into a heart-warming smile, and he nodded, holding out the mug. “You’re most welcome, Macy.”

He stepped around her to get into the bathroom. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a quick shower.” With a deprecating tilt of his shoulder, he added, “Good thing I’ve stopped barging in on you in the bath, right?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Macy said, letting herself smile. The first genuine smile she’d had in what felt like a while.

She made her way to her room, sipping at the tea. Even the littlest taste made her feel a bit calmer. Whatever else, Harry certainly knew his stuff when it came to tea.

**ii. the now**

“Ugh, god, I needed this,” Macy moaned.

Her voice echoed in the empty bathroom, but she didn’t mind too much, she’d made sure to cast a simple silencing spell so no one would bother her or hear her from the outside, and a locking charm to keep anyone out. She learned her lesson well from the last time. When Harry’d barged in.

Macy didn’t want to explain the tightening in her gut just thinking about that incident. It had been highly embarrassing. And weird. _And awkward_. Especially since she’d been wearing one of her face-masks. Hardly the kind of glamorous prelude to one of the most popular porn scenarios in the world: _man barges in on woman in shower, they both get nasty with soapy water and in acrobatic positions more likely to result in concussions than orgasms, and all the rest of it_.

Not—_not_. That she’d been thinking about any pornographic scenarios between herself and Harry. _Ever_. She didn’t even like watching that kind of porn anyway.

She ignored the way her groin clenched at even the _hint_ of a thought.

“Ever-_ever_,” she reminded herself aloud. Because it was apparently a _thing_, she needed to remind herself of, a lot lately.

Shaking her head, Macy focused on the tranquil part of her bath-time.

With the wistful strains of her favourite Elgar concerto filtering out from her mini-speakers, she allowed herself to unwind. Tonight, was a time for dreaming and relaxation instead of the usual stirring opera she tended to play for her late-night baths.

Settling back in the spacious tub, she let the steaming hot water submerge her. The heat unlocked her muscles, the lemon and rose-scented oil she’d used helping to calm her further.

Lately, it felt like they’d been running and running and _running_ without any pause to breathe, or just _be_. And Macy was no stranger to hard work. She’d been working her ass off all her life, to be the best in her class, to compensate for being the only Black girl in her school and having to work three times harder than everyone else, and her own innate compulsive need to be good at what she did. Transferring that to their new role as elders—however unprepared they were for that kind of thing—hadn’t been a problem once she let go of moving to Michigan for her dream job.

But it was hard.

Just last week, they’d lost another witch to a shape-shifting assassin. She’d subsequently spent hours staring at the monitor, at every glimmering yellow light that tracked the souls of the last remaining witches on the planet, trying to work out an algorithm in her head to predict the next hit. It hadn’t worked, of course. But she’d _tried_. Her mind wouldn’t allow her to do anything but.

Today, they’d all decided to take a break. Everyone was doing the thing they loved best, away from work, away from the burdens of their new reality. Mel had decided to go on a date with the cute witch she met at the apothecary, Maggie was off doing sorority stuff, and Harry—well, Macy wasn’t sure where Harry was.

Her heart skipped just at the thought of _him_. She flicked a cloud of bubbles off her arm in annoyance. Her heart kept doing that lately, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like the way just glancing at him over the breakfast table set a swarm of butterflies off in her gut. She absolutely hated how when he stepped in close to hug her or brush his hands on her cheek when she was wounded, or even heal her—his magic warming her from the inside out—she forgot how to breathe entirely.

It was absurd and confusing. And she was scientist, she dealt in practicalities, in things that could be easily explained.

_But there was no science for this. _

Biting her lip, Macy shoved all thoughts of Harry and his pretty hazel eyes and even prettier hands away. She didn’t want to think about any of that now.

She propped her left leg up on the rim of the tub, and let her fingers run along the slight stubble—she was way overdue for a shave. The last few weeks had been so busy, she hadn’t really bothered with that sort of thing. Maybe she’d do it tonight, and go paint her toenails too, give herself a proper self-pamper after all the crazy. Self-care was important she was learning. Sometimes that meant getting tipsy with her sisters at one of Maggie’s crazy parties or reading a book with the Fall rain tinkering at the window. But tonight, it would mean making herself feel good.

She reached for the glass of red wine she’d poured for herself. That was a new addition to the late-night bubble baths but a welcome one. There weren’t too many stresses some good wine and warm bath couldn’t solve, she was learning. The bittersweet liquid slid down her throat, loosening her muscles further.

Grabbing a loofah, she squeezed some vanilla body wash onto it, and ran it over her arms in the laziest way possible. She winced when she felt a persistent kink in her shoulder click loudly. She tried to reach back to press at it with little luck. Ugh, she could really do with a massage.

_I bet Harry’s good with his hands._

The random thought slid passed her defences out of nowhere, so suddenly she gasped.

“Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it—.”

But then she couldn’t stop her brain, which always needed to turn over any problem or mystery with a scientist’s thoroughness and dedication, and she thought about Harry’s hands.

They were strong and capable, a little callused for a man who spent a lot of time in academic pursuits. She distinctly remembered the way they’d felt stroking her cheek, and sometimes her knuckles, her arm. That set her off to thinking about how those hands would feel touching her with more intent, grazing her wrist, maybe the nape of her neck where she was a little ticklish, the backs of her knee, her thighs, her—

“Oh god,” Macy murmured, half-ashamed but mostly surprised by how her body seemed to respond at just the _thought_.

It was a thought. Thoughts couldn’t be that dangerous, could they? Not here, in the sanctuary of this bathroom, _right_?

She nibbled on her lower lip as her hands moved, almost of their own accord to rest on her upper thighs under the water.

What harm could this do? A random fantasy, a one-time thing in the privacy of this bathroom couldn’t hurt anyone. Maybe she’d even get all these weird, inconvenient Harry feelings out of her system. Yes. This was a smart, strategic thing to do—in the interests of restoring herself to former levels of efficiency.

_How much work could a witch get done if she was getting fluttery feelings about her whitelighter at the most inconvenient times?_

Not much. And there was nothing she hatred more than being unproductive. So really, this was about the Mission, and keeping it forefront. Even Mel would be proud of her commitment.

Whatever her rationalisations, her body had made the choice, Macy knew it. Knew it from the way her core squeezed and released, a heavy ache settling within, as though she needed something—_anything_. The way her nipples were already hard, peaking in the warm water, in anticipation of what she was going to do next.

She might’ve been a virgin for twenty-eight years of her life, but she was no stranger to masturbation. Like most things, Macy had dedicated some time to figuring out what she liked. Sometimes toys did the trick, and she had a decent collection hidden in her bottom bed-side drawer. The first time she’d used a vibrator in college, she’d fallen off the side of her bed, overcome with the feeling of euphoria emanating from between her legs. But her favourite was this, just using her hands, touching herself in places she knew best to elicit the reaction she wanted. Self-pleasure was a kind of science, really, when you thought about it.

So, she let her hands roam.

With her left, she cupped her breast while her right hand, her dominant, slipped between her thighs to brush at her clit. Just the slightest touch, and she moaned, curious at how her body felt so primed and ready when she’d barely even started.

_You know why._

She thought of changeable hazel eyes. The way they were shot-through with whiskey when he was gazing at her warmly, or how the evergreen came out when he was worried. The way they’d seemed almost smoky in that strange dream she had, delirious from the assassin’s poison. The black of his pupils crowding out the colour, dark with promise, and something heavy. She hadn’t been able to resist leaning into his touch then, staring at his firm lips and desperate for him to just lean down an inch or two.

Rubbing at her entrance, she slipped one finger in, feeling how slick she already was inside. Plucking at her breasts, she slid one more in, while her thumb played with her button.

“_Fuck_,” she whimpered. The steam had made the hair at her temples stick and coil, and the heat from within made her feel like she was near-suffocating.

She imagined Harry opening the door like he’d done so many months ago. This time she wouldn’t scream and throw him out the door with her mind. No, this time she’d open her eyes and gaze right up at him, beckon him close with one water-soaked hand.

‘Will you be nice and quiet for me, love?’ he’d ask, the key tumbling in the door’s lock with a menacing certainty. ‘Be a good, perfect girl like I know you want to be?’

“Yes,” Macy gasped.

He’d move towards her with that quiet confidence he’d started to adopt lately, a tiger’s grace where before Harry’d been such a lamb. With his eyes trained on hers, he’d crouch down low by the tub, and run one finger down her arm, from shoulder to fingers until their hands were linked.

Even just that touch alone would have Macy trembling.

‘Tell me what you want,’ he’d ask, except it would feel more like an order. And Macy, who’d never allow anyone to boss her around under _any_ circumstances ordinarily, would bring their intertwined hands down, down below the surface of the water, to her waiting pussy.

“Touch me, please?” She was begging, her voice winded, her eyes meeting his in the candle-light. And she didn’t care one bit.

The first stroke of his fingers on her lower lips would have her jerking upward, feet planted on the tub’s bottom, thighs widening to give him room.

First one thick finger would work its way inside, then another, and a third until she felt the strain of it—of being stuffed just the way she wanted. He’d pump them in and out, while his free hand reached around behind her to cup the back of her head and pull her in for a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. Writhing under his knowing ministrations, Macy would keen while she wrapped her tongue around his, while she nipped at his lower lip, drank him in as deep as possible.

‘You’re so tight around my fingers,’ he’d whisper into her cheek, both panting for air. He’d nibble his way to her earlobe, and say, ‘Can’t wait to feel how good you’ll feel around my cock.’

Just the idea of that. The filthy words coming from him, his voice gruff with want, his fingers fucking into her would make her cry out.

“I want you to fuck me.” This time, she’d be doing the ordering.

‘Yeah? In here?’ his fingers would speed up then, rubbing deep inside her to a special spot that made her entire body seize up and had her wailing, throwing her head back. ‘Wish I could bend you right over this tub and fuck you. Maybe I’d climb in, and let you ride me.’

Every scenario spilling from dream-Harry’s surprisingly dirty mouth, especially with _that_ accent, edged her closer to completion.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Macy whined with abandon.

Then her Harry nudged his forehead against her cheek, his breath rasping along her neck as he asked, ‘Do you like it?’

And that set her off, her vaginal muscles gripping him tight as she crested, her orgasm rippling through her body like wildfire, and she revelled in the burn.

Minutes later, Macy blinked, discombobulated, her entire body thrumming with the power of that release, all the fatigued tension in her muscles had melted away under the heat of that fantasy. She lay back in the cooling water in shock as she recovered. She hadn’t come that hard in a long time—maybe ever.

And she couldn’t lie to herself. The evidence lay around her, undeniable and impossible to ignore.

_She wanted Harry Greenwood_.

Whether she’d do anything about it was a different matter entirely.

As she let herself out the bathroom, Macy wasn’t prepared to see Harry standing there, an odd little quirk to his mouth.

“Harry! Whoa, didn’t expect to see you there.”

How long had been standing there? _Surely, not too long?_ She’d cast the noise charm both ways, so there was no way he’d heard her masturbating to the thought of him. That would be too awkward. Way, way, way too awkward.

Cringing inwardly, Macy shot him a nervous smile and announced, perhaps too loudly, “Bathroom’s all yours!” _Did she sound weird?_ She felt like she sounded weird.

“Thank you, Macy, nothing like a long, hot bath is there?” Harry said, with that half-smile of his. As he ambled closer to get in, Macy felt herself frozen to the spot. There was a glint in his eyes, it was warm and a little secretive. She had no idea what to make of it.

“I hope you liked it,” he murmured as he walked passed, his voice little more than a murmur.

Minutes after he’d shut the door behind him, she stood there, deer caught in the headlights, her body having all sorts of ridiculous reactions to just those five whispered words.

_Oh boy_.

**iii. the near future**

“Are you—_mph_—absolutely sure we have the house to ourselves?” Macy asked between frantic kisses as she did her best to manoeuvre Harry out of the button-down, he was wearing and shimmy her jeans off at the same time.

“Yes, one hundred percent,” Harry wheezed as he made quick work of her blouse’s buttons, ripping the shirt down her arms to bare her breasts to his hungry gaze.

Macy made a sound that was very close to a squeal but that she would never admit to when he ducked down to tongue at her breasts through her bra with the ravenous greed of a man who’d been denied way too long.

The last couple of times they’d done this—given in to the awkward, weird, and entirely unprecedented tension—it had been rushed, and messy. A quick fumbling in the elders’ old command centre that had her screaming against the ops chair that Harry’d claimed as his own. Another time, Harry’d eaten her out in the attic while she did her best to muffle her moans against her own hand and nearly given herself a concussion hitting her head on the door behind her. Then she’d given Harry a quick hand-job when they were meant to be undercover hunting a creepy incubus at a night club. They’d been tucked away in a corner, mostly hidden from prying eyes, and he’d come in her hands as the loud music thrummed through both their bodies and they kissed each other stupid in the dark.

It was messy, and a little ridiculous, and she felt like she was experiencing what average teenagers experienced with her newly raging libido. But any time they tried to rationalise it, they ended up kissing. And when they tried to deny the attraction, they ended up doing more.

So, they were _going_ with it.

There was something almost freeing about allowing herself to do that. No scientific method, no agonising over whether to jump over the edge or not, no questioning herself, just _doing_.

_And god, it felt good._

Tonight, they’d split off from Mel and Maggie who were following up a lead all the way across the country while Macy and Harry had stayed behind in Seattle to chase up a manticore wreaking havoc on the waterfront. They’d managed to defeat it with a combination of Macy’s offensive magic and Harry’s sword skills. The fact that he could handle a sword _like that_ had been a _huge_ distraction. So, distracting that she almost got her head chopped off gawking at him as he twirled that thing around like some kind of professional. And as soon as they’d banished the thing, she’d pretty much told him that if he didn’t orb them back home right then, they’d end up breaking several indecency laws.

Killing a manticore was a very dirty job, they’d ended up covered in rust-coloured ichor and many other things Macy would rather not think about. Harry’d orbed them right to the hallway outside the bathroom to get cleaned up.

_Except who cared about getting clean when you could play tonsil-hockey?_

Apparently, _not_ her.

Harry nudged her into the bathroom, crowding her up against the sink before he dragged his mouth from her chest with obvious reluctance. “I seem to remember something about a bath?”

“Shower’s quicker,” Macy declared, fingers reaching for his belt.

“Very true—,” he started but broke off when she reached into his pants to grip his cock, stroking him from root to crown, tight as the fit was inside his slacks. “But you have no idea how many times I’ve fantasised about you—_oh gods, just like that, darling_—in here—_fuck_! Covered in that lovely fruity-smelling, decadent stuff you bathe in, all perfectly wet and mussed and—Macy, _please_, yes.”

Even with her mind laser-focused on pulling him out of his pants and _into_ her, Macy couldn’t ignore his cute babbling. Usually, she was the one reduced to rambling like an idiot, so this was kind of a welcome change. And who was she to disappoint Harry’s fantasies. She’d had quite a few of her own in here, come to think of it.

“Really? You fantasised about me bathing?”

His eyes rolled back into his head when she finally succeeded in getting his dick out, swiping the already-wet tip with her thumb and caressing his girth. “Yes, yes—yes very much,” he stuttered.

_God, he was cute all flustered and needy like this._

“As a matter of honesty,” Macy said as she raised her left hand, opening the bathroom tap from where she stood while plugging the stopper in, unscrewing the lid off her favourite bubble bath and pouring a liberal amount into the swirling water. “You should know that I’ve had quite a few … _thoughts_ about you in here as well.”

“Oh _really_?” Harry said, his voice pitched as he gave her a distractedly impressed look for using her magic with such ease to run the bath, the mentor in him never rested. “What kinds of thoughts?”

“I could probably show you better than tell.” She liked that idea as soon as she said it, so she let go and stepped back to finish taking off her clothes.

Harry seemed torn between complaining about the sudden lack of attention to his penis and following her lead. He went with the latter, enthusiastically stripping the last of his clothes.

When they both stood naked, they studied each other close, both blushing a little because—oddly—this was the first time either of them had been fully bare in front of the other. It didn’t feel shameful or anything, but Macy couldn’t resist cataloging every part on display with her usual penchant for detail. The thick, rather muscular torso Harry’d been hiding under all those sweater vests and waistcoats, tapering down to slim hips and pale thighs that made her want to bend down and take a bite. Every part of him was attractive.

Harry seemed similarly absorbed in examining her. Macy knew she was pretty tall for a woman, that maybe her hips were a little wide, and her breasts were more than a handful, but it had been a while since anyone looked at her the way Harry was now. His eyes were dark and smouldering, and he was licking his lower lip as his gaze zeroed in on her mound, covered in neatly-trimmed hair. She was already wet with desire but the heat from that look alone had her soaked.

“God, you’re exquisite,” Harry said as he stepped forward, tugging her in for a tender kiss. His hands slid down to cup her ass, and half-lift her so his hard cock slid in between her thighs, notching _just so_ against her entrance.

They both groaned, the sound blaringly loud above the running water.

He could slip in and they could go at it right now but Macy, accessing heretofore unknown depths of fortitude, tilted her head towards the tub, and uttered, breathlessly, “We should get in.”

It wasn’t a graceful thing, clambering into a relatively narrow bathtub with someone, they soon discovered. Folding their limbs right, making sure they didn’t sit funny. Luckily neither slipped or brained themselves, and the fit was tight but not uncomfortably so. They were both giggling ruefully by the time Harry sank back against the tub’s edge, and Macy straddled his lap, her arms hanging loosely over his shoulders, his hardness pressed into her belly in the sudsy water.

He reached up to cup one of her breasts, scraping his thumb against a distended nipple before leaning down to draw it into his warm, wet mouth, and suckle at it, in a way that made her squirm.

“So, when you said you had _thoughts_ about me in here—what kind of thoughts did you mean, Macy?” He switched to her other breast while he reached between their bodies, splaying his fingers against her entrance as the heel of his hand pressed against her nub.

“Oh-_oh_, you’re very closely re-enacting them,” she mumbled as she swivelled her hips a little, desperate for him to touch her, fill her, _anything_.

“Am I really, love?” The endearment rolled off his tongue so easily, and it made her feel warm and gooey inside in a way that she’d be embarrassed to acknowledge later.

“Y-yes, Harry,” she said before growing impatient. She reached down to take him in hand and position him at her entrance. “I need you—_now_.”

It was an order.

Harry seemed to like that, biting on his lower lip as he raised his hips slightly, slipping the crown of his cock just inside her tight core, tracing the seam of her cunt as if to _savour_ the moment. They both hissed at the sensation.

And when Macy slid down, taking him inside her, inch by delicious inch, they sighed in unison, the sound echoing in the bathroom. By the time she had taken him in all the way to the root, they were both struggling to breathe, gasping into each other’s mouths at the perfect fit of it.

“You feel—,” Harry seemed unable to find the words for it, nudging his cock deeper, deep as it could go until he could feel her womb. “_Fuck_ me.”

There was something about him, her whitelighter, the most well-mannered man she knew cursing that turned her on even more if that was possible.

She rolled her hips, raising herself up and then slamming down again, setting a fast pace that had the water in the tub splashing over the rim and no doubt making a mess on the floor. Macy didn’t give a damn. _She just wanted to come_.

“That’s it, love, take it,” Harry encouraged, his hands on her ass urging her on. He bent his legs up a little, so she slid down onto his cock at a sharper angle and her clit rubbed against his torso with each pass—_Every spirit in every hell there was, that felt good_.

She kissed him, biting down on his lower lip, as her orgasm built at remarkable speed. All it took was Harry biting right back, his tongue laving at the hurt to soothe it, and thrust that hit her in just the right spot for her to explode. Her inner muscles clutched at him as the pleasure swept through her with the force of a tidal wave. He wasn’t far behind, he growled long and low as he came inside her.

It was as they both eased down from the high, Macy’s face buried in Harry’s shoulder, her fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his head that she mumbled, “Just FYI – _this_ experience? A thousand times hotter than _anything_ I thought about doing in here with you.”

Harry chuckled, a sweet sound, and said with full certainty, “I absolutely concur.”

##  **fin**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is cool.


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